Friday, April 27, 2012

Somebody forwarded me this page as a guideline for how things "should" be running at my house.
And it's not that I don't think children should be taught these things or know how to do stuff independently, it's the whole smug, preachy tone that gets up my nose. Like, my ten-point-seven-five year old does not know how to mow the lawn or change the freakin' fuses (which is not an issue anyway - what, are we in the fifties? I have not seen a burned out fuse since I was 12 and it was about 1984. And that fuse was from THE FIFTIES.), therefore I should feel BAD about myself and realise that my mothering is NOT GOOD ENOUGH.

Even the title irritates me now. My kids aren't that busy, but I'm still happy. What does that make me - an underachiever? I have enough to worry about in my life, thanks so much, without lying awake nights thinking "oh CRAP they don't know about WATTAGE."

So in response to this, we blew off school yesterday and I took the kids to the park for the entire afternoon. I laid on my stomach on the grass and read "Kristin Lavransdatter" while the kids kept BUSY, doing this

and it was great.

*****Disclaimer: no offense, heavy scheduling is fine, do what's best for you, blah blah blah.

Sunday, April 01, 2012

It's Good Friday. You want some family time, and it's a long weekend, and those hot cross buns are sitting kind of heavy, so you think "I know what I'll do! I'll rent Hop." After all, it's a cute little family Easter movie to watch with the kiddies while you pop Mini Eggs and marshmallow bunnies, right?

NO.

Why?

Here's why.

There's the poor little wandering Easter Bunny, just looking for a place to stay for the night. See the gates behind him?

Yes, that's right: he thought he'd try the Playboy Mansion - after all, the guidebook says "home of sexy bunnies", and he is - to use his own words - "incredibly sexy". He has a little conversation over the intercom with Hugh Hefner about whether or not he qualifies.

"They wouldn't understand anyway," says my husband in response to my ranting in the kitchen afterwards. And will the preschool/school-age target audience for this movie know what "Playboy" is? Of course not. This is one of those adult-themed jokes that children's entertainers seem to think obligatory these days. It's like a snide little wink over the tops of the kids' heads.

But when my eight year old sees some idiot's bunny-with-bowtie mudflaps on the back of their pickup in the Thrifty Foods parking lot, she is going to think to herself, "Oh, that's from Hop!" And she will give a little smile and think about candy and laughs and good times.

That's called "branding", and it's one of the hottest marketing concepts of our time. We've all heard about the study involving preschoolers, where they recognise the golden arches. (Actually, our kids have a lot more imprinting than just McDonald's - this is worth a quick read.)

Playboy is just as recognisable a brand as any other. It's one of the original pioneers - if you can call it that - in an industry that is now worth 12 billion dollars a year in the US alone.

And hell - we're advertising to kids already, right? Give them a few years and they won't be kids anymore - they'll be adults: fully integrated consumers...might as well start prepping them now to contribute to that 12 billion dollars a year. Know how much income tax that generates?

I thought we had come a long way, but I might be wrong. The pendulum seems to be swinging back, and my daughters are growing up in an age where they will learn their place as sex objects, no matter what I do about it.

Last night I had a dream that I was at a party where I was the only one who didn't want to eat the tarantula cheesecake. Huge black tarantulas, with red bits on their legs, crushed up and mixed with the sugar, the eggs, the cream cheese, and the melted chocolate. Horrifying, disgusting, unpalatable, sinister, and probably harmful - in a deliciously sweet and silky dessert.